


His Very Last Vow

by CastingAnthem



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cancer, Death, Helpless, I'm Sorry, Tears, This is super sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastingAnthem/pseuds/CastingAnthem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cancer, she kills the best of them even the ones you love. This is very sad, prepare to cry. I'm sorry. Not really Johnlock but it's open ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Very Last Vow

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It's Colvin again with some completely unrelated from anything i've ever written. This is by far the most depressing thing i have ever written too. So warning: You will probably cry while reading this. I did. I'm sorry. If you don't you are either heartless or strong as fuck. ._.

His Very Last Vow

By: Colvin

The cancer had been spreading for awhile now. One year since John was told. He's still in shock. Some days though, were harder than others to keep the repugnant reality of the situation together. Over a thousand days and still not a single one felt real. None of it felt real since the news. And watching his friend slowly deteriorate just made it that much worse. He wanted to look away, separate himself but John knew he couldn't do that to Sherlock.

He witnessed it start off as a simple headache, nothing serious. They were easily treated by sleep. But then it progressed to debilitating jolts of pain that looked to be starting in his lower back to the center of his brain John knew something was wrong. A couple times the doctor saw his friend pass out, collapse to the floor unconscious for an unknown amount of time. The doctor wanted to call them seizures and sadly, later he found out he was right. Sherlock's brain would overheat and completely shut down, restarting whenever it was strong enough again. The other times Sherlock fell was because of the pain, his body wouldn't allow him to get up. It was getting to be too much. Standing became a difficult game. His best friends world looked to be shaking as his footing was off and eyes moved rapidly, wandering around confused as he tried to keep it together when they were on a case. The detective wasn't thinking straight, unable to hold anything important in his head for a day or so. He often repeated himself and broke into fits of anger and tears. John was helpless to aid his friend. Sherlock only pushed away because he knew something was wrong too.

It wasn't until John drug Sherlock to the doctors that they found out exactly what nightmare, what storm, what disaster was just ahead. Five brain scans and three professionals later it was confirmed. There was no denying it, the symptoms were all present and the highest treatment of care wasn't going to change the results. Sherlock Holmes had glioblastoma, or in other words brain cancer. The tumor was the size of a kidney bean and had been growing for years. Only in the past year had it been actually taking its effect.

For weeks John watched his friend stare at the MRIs, looking for false imaging. Something, anything to make it not be true. The detective would lock himself away for days in his room, unresponsive when called upon. The times he wasn't locked away he shouted at John, blaming him for showing him his death. It was all his fault. The detective was becoming very violent. Thrashing the flat, breaking anything he could get his hands on. Those episodes usually ended in tears and blood coming from both of them. Depression. Sherlock stopped eating completely, stopped caring. It broke John's heart to see it. This can't be real, the small man told himself over and over again. Unfortunately, it was. Sometime later Sherlock desperately tried to look for a cure. In the end, not even a genius man like himself can find corruption in his fate.

When John had enough of watching Sherlock die faster than he had to he talked the detective into looking at possible treatments. They were only hit with more bad news. The tumor was so embedded into Sherlock brain, residing there for years and growing at an alarming rate surgery would only kill him. So the next best option was chemotherapy. Although Sherlock wasn't stupid, of course not, he knew it wouldn't making it go away just slow his time down. And as for John, in the back of his mind the part you always try and avoid, he knew too. Nothing could be done.

Sherlock put a good fight not to go through with it. But when John fell apart, in tears almost as he begged on his knees for him to the stubborn man finally gave in. He couldn't lose his friend. God, he didn't want to. At first, the treatment went as exacted. Sherlock was tired, and vomited a lot but he ate when he could and his memory got a bit better. Good enough that he was able to take a case and complete it. Things were looking up. Sherlock was back to his old self.

That is… until a couple weeks later he fell ill. John blamed himself for forcing Sherlock outside to go to the crime scene in the middle of winter. A simple cold that turned into the flu within days. The detective was hospitalized for five days. His body was on fire when John tried to touch him. He puked up blood a few times and had asthmatic attacks. All while doctor Watson stood back and watched. It was one of the hardest things he had to do.

Nor John or Sherlock told anyone about the cancer. One by one everyone just kinda saw Sherlock's desemble. They did their best to stray away from the topic of death, cancer or Sherlock's health. But the awkwardness only set the man off so people stopped coming around. They were scared of him, going through John for information. Even Mycroft. John and Sherlock did this one their own. But it was Watson who was really alone.

The cancer became very clear of attention when three months into chemo Sherlock started losing his hair. John saw clumps of chocolate brown curls lay in the sink sometimes. One day when the doctor came home from work he heard a buzzing sound coming from the bathroom. He hesitantly walked down the hallway to find Sherlock holding a electric razor with those blue eyes filled with painful tears. The detective handed John the razor for he couldn't do it himself. He stood there for far too long before mustard himself to do it, Shave all off Sherlock hair off. Afterwards he went out and spent a hundred dollars on different kinds of hats he might want. Sherlock liked a plain black beanie.

Episodes of the seizures, pain and illness still occurred a couple months into treatment. Sherlock ability to work for the Scotland yard was gone, forever. He was too busy sleeping, laying the hospital, or in chemo to do anything else. He was to weak to move. John, a bystander was of course helpless to try and do anything. He was only pushed away. It was only getting worse.

They were swimming in mountains bills so John did his best to put in as many hours as he could to help try and put a dent in Sherlock debt. Working from sun-up to sun-down. The stares of people who knew what was going on at home made the doctor feel uncomfortable and he was one strike away from losing his job. There wasn't a day that past John didn't lock himself in his office and cry, pray to God for a change. Take me instead, i'll do anything. His prayer seemed to go unheard when Sherlock could no longer be alone. Seven months of chemo and his friend had no hair, lost so much weight he couldn't stand, barely eating and now the only option they had left was to place him in a hospital, but not any hospital. A hospice center.

Sherlock's cancer had been affecting him for two years. He's only known of his cancer for one. Chemotherapy for a seven months and he was just getting worse each day. Doctors gave him less than two months when he went into hospice. That was it. No more. It wasn't like he could live his life to best because he couldn't even use his legs anymore. But his best friend, John Watson stood by his side and that was enough.

…

"How was your visit with Mycroft?" John said in a calm voice as he walked into Sherlock's room taking his place in a chair very close to the ill man's bed.

"Boring. ...You'd think that man would be ...some entertainment for a… dying one."

"Oh now, he's trying." John said lying to the both of them.

It's been two weeks since Sherlock entered hospice and John knew he hated every moment of it. He didn't want to be there, surrounded by dying people. Smelling of human feces, cheap perfumes and cleaning supply. It wasn't the ideal place to die but Sherlock never once demanded to die at home cause if he did John would like that idea better. Maybe he'd be more at peace.

"How are you feeling today?"

"The same as yesterday ...and the day before and the day before ...that. I can tell you how… i'm going to feel tomorrow too. That is... "

"Sherlock, stop."

John looked in Sherlock no more blue eyes. They've settle to a faded marble blue. Almost gray.

"I'm being realistic John."

The doctor just let out a long sigh and leaned back in his seat. Sherlock's head slowly turned to look at him.

"I'm going to die John… one day and..."

"I know Sherlock. I know." His voice was melancholy.

"And… you need to be ready. I don't want to… leave you a mess." The detective struggled to finish his body was so weak.

"I'm still praying to God for a something to happen," John took another selfish deep breath, adjusting himself, "If not, i hope God somehow manages to forgives you."

"John you know… that's rubbish. When i die… i'm going into the ground. To even interest yourself in such… fallacy is..."

"Let me believe, for God sakes let me." John interrupted once more hold back his emotions.

Sherlock did not return a comment.

No one stood by Sherlock's side. The good or the bad. People either went on about their lives, pretending Mr. Holmes wasn't going to die, it was just another trick or he pushed them away. No one way good enough. He only wanted John Watson around, that was a blessing and a curse. John felt honored that he would want him around out of so many people but he also hated, despised and loathed that he had to be the one to watch his best friend die and there was nothing he could do. It wasn't fair. Oh Lord, it's not fair.

…

It was a snowy January night. The winter storm of the new year had just began a couple hours ago and the snow already was up to the ankles. When you looked up to the sky it appeared to be ash falling and not snow. It fell endlessly. Sherlock loved the snow.

John hadn't slept last in almost two days nor had to showered or left Sherlock's side. He drowned himself in coffee and strolls around the lobby. People would stare at him when he walked because of his unwashed clothes and unshaven face. The man was a zombie. But Sherlock has not gotten this worse ever, constantly coughing up blood, wheezing or sleeping for long periods of time. He could barely talk without gasping. His body was shutting down one by one, slowly. His brain was fried as he tried to survive. The doctor informed John that it would be any day now so he did not leave his side. His friend needed him.

"John..." A whispered voice forced out.

The doctor's head was resting on Sherlock bed. He tried his best not to dozy off. His hand was wrapped around the bony, fragile and cold fingers of the dying man as he faintly listened to the sound of the machines that aid the detective. Just barely did he hear the voice calling.

He held his head up, looking at Sherlock from under his brow.

"What's wrong?" John's voice almost sounded panicked.

"Thank you...thank you for… everything." He slightly gripped John's hand, "I couldn't have… asked for a ...better friend. I accepted this long… ago. And i'm glad i got… to go through this with you… John Hamish Watson. I'm glad… i'm not alone."

John sat up, leaning in to Sherlock trying his back to hold back the tears.

"Sherlock you are a amazing man. Of course you know that. I've never met someone like you and i never will again. It's been an honor to be your rock and your friend."

A weak, faded smile appeared on his face, "I wouldn't have made… it this far without you."

"Sherlock..." John felt his eyes gather with tears, blurring his vision, "I don't want you to die. I've been preparing since day one and i'm still not ready. I'm sorry Sherlock, i'm not ready to let go."

"You have too..."

"I know you've said you will live on in the history we've made, you're right but God... you're my best friend. I love you. I can't lose you. Every day i wish it'd be me and not you. Sherlock, ...you're worth much more to this world than i am."

"I love you too John.."

John watched Sherlock close his weak, sunk in eyes, still carrying a smile. A peaceful, silent and tranquil look came across the detective face as his grip loosened to nothing. John glance down from his face to his chest as it started to rise and fall slower, and slower.

"Sherlock… Sherlock." He whispered.

He didn't move.

This was it. It was time. Today was Sherlock Holmes last painful day on Earth. His last breathe was very close.

John squeezed his hand hard as he could, cringing to hold back the tears but they were falling from his eyes mercilessly. The realization of this moment was here. Right in front of his face, there was way around it. And as he witnessed Sherlock take his last breathe he broke, shattered to pieces, "No… no. Please no. Sherlock!" John held his lifeless arm to his face.

John knew this moment would come, of course but God it was so real. It hurt so much. His best friend was gone. Dead. He was really dead. The sound of the machines going flat echoed in his ears. A deafening ring as they did not shut off. It was all over.

John sobbed over Sherlock's lifeless body for what felt like forever, gone in this sorrowfully moment. Hugging onto him and wailing like a child until a couple of nurses came to peeled him off.

It's over.

For the first time in a two days John stepped outside. Into the the snowy storm, feeling the dancing snow land and dissolve on his body. The chilly air seeping into his hospitalized lungs. He stared off into the distant, not really looking at anything. Numbing his body to the freezing temperatures. He felt dead inside. Cancer killed, murderer his best friend and when he died a piece of John died too.

They won the battles together, but as do most… they lost the war together.

-End.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I'm sorry if i've felt you a complete mess. But gather yourself together for me. It will be okay it's only fan fiction. Um, reviews? Please. I'm very sad at the moment and some good reviews would make it better.
> 
> Cancer is a terrible thing. I've lost my grand mother to it in 2012. And right now my aunt is currently battling brain cancer. She's been surviving for eight years now. Sadly, some of a treatment she's underwent had damaged her memory, short term. I love her to death and i pray they find a cure, a day.
> 
> Check out my other works Recreating Love, Psychoanalyze My Deductions and The Only Man I'd Ever Love. Love you guys.


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